


Little Red and the Beast.

by shuckingwolves



Series: Disney/Teen Wolf [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eventual Sterek, M/M, almost word-for-word dialogue, beauty and beast AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuckingwolves/pseuds/shuckingwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Beauty and the Beast AU for Teen Wolf. Stiles is Belle. Jackson is Gaston. Derek is the Beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing like the rest of us

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if anybody's tried to do this before-knowing the internet they probably have-but thought it would be fun to write :) No promises about when the next chapter's is as I'm very busy atm.  
> 

Sheriff Stilinski was the town Sheriff in Beacon Hills, as such he had brilliant ideas for the town. He was often run off his feet, coming in from work with a sigh, running a hand over his face. His son, Stiles, always had a healthy meal at the ready. The Sheriff was hoping that this weekend would be a chance to get some fast food. He was going to a convention a few towns over, somebody wanted him to give a speech. He didn’t feel like he could bring Stiles with him. Stiles had ADHD, no brain-to-mouth filter, and a tendency to get passionate about things. Lofty superiors talking down to his dad wouldn’t be any good. 

The morning approaching of the convention, Stiles woke up early. He’d fallen asleep at his desk, head dozing on the computer, his report sticking to his cheek. He shook his head, the paper flying into his lap. He had to be at school soon. Sighing, he crammed the books and reports into his bag, knowing he’d need an early start if he were to get to the school library before the bell rang for first lesson. He shouted goodbye to his dad, hoisting his rucksack onto his shoulder.  
The walk to school was like usual, the air was crisp and the cars passed him by easily. He carried on walking, seeing the first signs of human life emerging. People were climbing into their cars for work, some of them putting out their bins, the more elderly tending to their gardens. The little old lady from across the road tottered over, smiling up at him. She was a good friend of his dad’s and Stiles didn’t like to point out that he was running late.

“Good morning, Stiles!”

“’Morning, Mrs Smith.”

“Where you off to?”

“The school library, actually. There’s like a kazillion books I need to return, one of them was actually pretty useful. It’s about all these mechanisms and science which everybody takes for granted-” 

“That’s lovely, dear. Martin! Oh my, he’s planting those pansies wrong.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, shoving his book back into his bag, from where he was preparing to show her what he meant. It didn’t take long to walk to school, not with his long limbs. By the time he was walking through the school parking, the first few kids were beginning to trickle through. Two jocks eyed him warily from where they lounged against their cars.

“He’s so weird.”

Stiles blocked their mutterings out, preferring to hum aloud instead. Admittedly, that might not help the rumours to stop. He carried on walking, his eyes trained on the doors to the school. As Stiles passed through the doors, he heard a teacher call out to him.

“Head’s in the clouds again, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles nodded vaguely, casting his eyes downwards and turning left, towards the library. People were starting to fill the corridors, gossiping and judging as others walked by.

“Did you see her dress?”

“So ugly!”

Stiles rolled his eyes but the negativity was everywhere, like a disease in the school.

“I didn’t watch it. I think it’s gone downhill.”

“Oh, yeah, me too, absolutely. Downhill.”

Stiles snorted as he passed the girls speaking, earning himself a few glares. This negativity and judging couldn’t be the only thing that life and society had to offer? If it  
was then it seriously sucked. He took a right and entered the library, relieved to be there on time.

The woman in charge of the library, a middle-aged specimen with massive glasses, peered up at him from her desk.

“Ah, Stilinski.” She said, by way of greeting.

“’Morning. I came to return the book I borrowed?”

“Finished already?” She asked, eyes narrowing.

Stiles shrugged, unzipping his bag and pulling out said book.

“I’ve got a report due and I found it quite interesting, the theories of adaption, the mechanisms behind certain characteristics. Have you got anything else like it?” Stiles asked, stopping himself before he went on a ramble.

The librarian shook her head, smiling fondly.

“I don’t think so, dear.”

Stiles was already one step ahead of her, pursuing the shelves for a good book. You just had to look past the spines and the titles, read the first page or the blurb. He  
found one within minutes, on a similar topic which interested him.

“That’s alright. I’ll borrow…this one.” He said, waving it triumphantly.

The librarian put her hands on her hips.

“That one! But you’ve read it twice!”

Stiles shrugged.

“Yeah but it combines law and science, two things which I happen to like. If I could like anything more than the mets, which is impossible, this would be it.”

He waved the book in the air again, before passing said book over to be beeped through the machine. She sighed, shaking her head with exasperation at him.

“If you like it so much it’s all yours, Stiles.”

Stile opened his mouth to protest, it was stealing school resources after all. However, she shushed him quickly, sending him on his way.

“I insist!” She smiled, as he still floundered for something to say at the door.

“Well, uh, thanks a lot!” Stiles called back, shutting the door.

He carried on walking to his first lesson, itching to take it out and see if that clause his dad had been speaking about would be any help for the local case the Sheriff’s department were working on after all. He heard the whispers still, the inventive ‘weirdo’ and ‘nerd’ nametags, but he ignored them. The bell rang as he entered his seat.

*

He had barely been able to keep still during the lessons, jiggling his leg up and down, fingers drumming on the desk. Finally, the bell signalling break had rung. He found a seat in the cafeteria, on his own, shoulders hunched over as he took a swig from his water and started reading. It was amazing! Every time, the book always helped somehow. Stiles read ahead to chapter three, scanning the lines for an answer, drinking in the knowledge.

Stiles heard whispering, appreciative whispering, and giggles not far off. He ignored them, focusing on his book. He knew that some girls found him attractive, but he rarely had any luck with them. Or, for that matter, with guys. 

At that moment, Danny walked through the door with Jackson, talking about the lacrosse practise last night.

“You didn’t miss a shot. You’re the best on our whole team.” Danny said simply, shrugging at Jackson’s sassily raised eyebrows.

“I know.” Jackson said, smirking.

Stiles tried to listen to the bustle of other students, to drown out their conversation, but they were coming closer, Jackson’s eyes on him. Stiles ducked his head, re-  
reading a line in the book whilst his neck burnt red.

“No team stands a chance against you.” 

The simpering girls walked over to Jackson, deliberately, taking their time as they crossed the hall. Danny smiled at Jackson.

“No girl for that matter.” Danny appraised.

Jackson shrugged.

“It’s true. But I’ve got my sights set on him.”

“The Sheriff’s son?”

Stiles’s ears flamed red too, in fact he was fairly sure his cheeks were flushing pink.

“Him. The lucky guy. The hottest one in town.”

Danny rolled his eyes, he knew exactly what Jackson meant.

“I know but-”

Jackson turned his head sharply to Danny.

“That makes him the best. And don’t I deserve the best?”

His words were quick, unquestionable.

“Well, of course. Yeah, you do.” Danny said, incapable of being mean to his friend.

Briefly, Stiles wondered if Danny was capable of being mean to anyone. Stiles drowned out their talking, rolling his eyes, picking up his book and walking in the direction of the door. He passed Jackson but no doubt the jock was too busy worrying about his reflection to notice. Stiles heard Jackson’s heavy footsteps behind him but chose not to look round. He passed the simpering girls again, who had retreated into the hallways for more subtlety. They practically swooned over Jackson.

“Isn’t he dreamy?”

“He’s so cute! And hot!”

“He scored the winning shot last night!”

“Oh, god, he’s so close!”

“Shut up then!”

“I don’t think I can breathe!”

Stiles rolled his eyes, heading for his locker to put the book safely away until lunch. Stiles heard the same judging comments with every step he took. Were these people  
so stupid as to get solely wrapped up in stupid things like Jackson’s hair? For the love of God, there had to be more interesting things in life than that!  
Stiles sidestepped even more people, hoping to ditch Jackson in the throng. Stiles heaved a sigh of relief when he reached his locker, opening it. He was in the process of placing the book inside, when Jackson leant against the locker closest, one elbow on it, eyes searching Stiles’s. 

“Hello Stiles.”

“Hi, Jackson.” Stiles said, biting down on his irritation.

Jackson had quick reflexes; Stiles supposed that was normal with being captain of the lacrosse team and all. Maybe he should have seen it coming when Jackson reached  
out and grabbed the book, flicking through the pages nonchalantly.

“Jackson, give me the book back, man.”

Jackson frowned, looking at the lines but not quite comprehending the scientific language.

“How can you read this? There’s no pictures.” He scoffed.

“Well, some people use their knowledge.” Stiles said, arching an eyebrow.

Jackson rolled his eyes, placing the book in a passer-by’s bag. He glanced back at Stiles, who was so appalled he was gaping.

“Stiles. It’s about time you get your head out of those books and pay attention to more important things.” Jackson said, his voice soft.

Stiles frowned after the retreating book, as it fell from the person’s bag. He bent down to get it, almost tripping over. He stood again, facing Jackson with an annoyed expression. Jackson smiled, white teeth showing in the perfect smile.

“Like me.”

The simpering girls nearby almost fainted. Stiles sighed deeply.

“The whole town is talking about it. It’s not right for a teenager to be so into science, law…thinking.”

“Jackson, this isn’t the age of the nethanderals.”

“Do you want to look at my lacrosse trophies, in the sports hall?”

Stiles almost balked at the idea of spending time in an enclosed space with Jackson, with only talk of Jackson’s amazing abilities and strength to pass the time. Jackson pinched the book out of his hands again.

“Maybe some other time.” Stiles said, trying to keep his tone even.

Stiles didn’t miss the commentary from the simpering group of girls, which was growing steadily. Stiles was glad they were concerning themselves over whether he felt ok but really, his mental state was none of their concern. Stiles grabbed the book back.

“I have to go to lesson, I can’t.”

Jackson leant in, body close and eyes searching Stiles’s. Stiles could see the tiny coloured flecks in Jackson’s eyes. He took a step back.

“Bye.” He said quickly, walking away.

Behind Jackson, Danny snorted, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder in a conciliatory gesture. Jackson shrugged it off, glaring at Stiles’s retreating back. Stiles would change his mind. Who wouldn’t?

*

At the end of the school day, Jackson caught Stiles walking out of the school parking lot. He called out his name and Stiles turned, burning internally with impatience, to meet him. Danny was close to follow Jackson, eyes watching the scene with a shy curiosity. 

“Jackson, I have to go home to help my dad.” 

Stiles put particular emphasis on the words which Jackson needed to get through to his brain. A passing jock laughed at that, calling over to Jackson.

“The Sheriff? He needs all the help he can get!”

“Don’t talk about my dad like that!” Stiles shouted, hands balling into fists at his sides.

Jackson was quick to stop laughing, turning his head sharply towards his fellow jock.

“Yeah, don’t talk about his dad like that!”

“My dad’s the Sheriff. And his ideas for this town are genius.” 

That, of course, had to be the time for a roaring police car to pass through, heading towards the station. Stiles cursed under his breath, ignoring Jackson’s and the jock’s laughter. He even ignored Danny’s torn expression, favouring heading in the direction of the station instead.


	2. The convention that almost was.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stilinski family feels and the Sheriff goes to the convention. Or tries to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter! This took a long time but I'm pleased with how it turned out :) so bare with, with timing for more chapters! Hope you guys like it thanks for the nice comments so far :) PS sorry for the mazerunner reference I couldn't not I know it's a cruel one.

Stiles opened the door, poking his head round the door and glancing around, his chin tucked to his neck. When he saw his dad, he sighed with relief.

“Dad?” Stiles called.

The Sheriff was sat at his desk, running his hand over his face in a clear sign of stress. He had a phone to his ear, which meant he was talking to official business people. 

“How an earth did that happen?” Stiles’ dad muttered.

The person on the other end of the phone replied, Stiles could hear them talking. They sounded panicked. A few minutes later, the Sheriff hung up the phone.

“Damn it!” He said.

“You ok, dad?” Stiles asked, swinging his arms at his sides.

“I’m about to give up on this.”

“You always say that.” Stiles grinned, flopping down onto the chair opposite his dad.

The Sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I mean it this time, Stiles. I’ll never get this Stop Crime scheme to work.”

Stiles leant his head back at an angle all the better scoff at those words.

“You will. You’ll convince them at the convention tomorrow.”

His dad raised an eyebrow, not quite believing that. Stiles dropped the scoff in favour for leaning forward and adopting a sincere expression. His hands were clasped in front of him and he looked his father dead on.

“And you’ll make me proud. Make mum proud.” Stiles assured him.

“You really believe that?”

“I always have.”

His dad shook his head at him, dismissing the compliment but not ruining the moment. His eyes shone as he looked at his son, smiling sadly.

“Well, what are we waiting for? I’ll have this thing fixed in no time.”

The Sheriff stood to his feet, rummaging in his desk drawer for some papers.

“Hand me that phone book.” He instructed Stiles.

Stiles cracked a smile, standing to his feet and going out of the room. He took the phone book from the deputies desk and walked back into his dad’s office.

“So, how was school today?” His dad asked.

During the minute he was gone, Stiles’s dad now had a pen between his teeth, was scratching the back of his head and had overflowing stacks of paper on his desk. Stiles walked over to him, the phone book in hand.

“I got a new book.” He shrugged.

He paused, his step faltering.

“Dad, do you think I’m weird?”

His dad stopped, half way between ripping up seemingly random pieces of paper and muttering to himself. He frowned at Stiles, the pen now tucked behind his ear and a line of it on his temple.

“My son, odd? Now, where would you get an idea like that?” He smiled kindly, his tone joking.

Stiles laughed, shrugging.

“I don’t know. It’s just I’m not sure I fit in here.” Stiles said, feeling the book weighing his bag down on his shoulders.

Stiles didn’t like the silence. His dad was frowning at him with concern. 

“There’s no brown eyed, good hearted best friend with a puppy personality I can talk to.” Stiles said sarcastically. As if that would ever happen.

“What about Jackson? He seems…attractive?” The Sheriff asked, distracted by rifling through some papers.

Stiles knew his dad wasn’t exactly one hundred percent certain about how to broach dating advice to Stiles. One time Stiles had mentioned he was gay but his dad had told him ‘not wearing clothes like that you’re not’. His dad was always supportive, so when Stiles had explained bisexual might be more accurate, he had accepted. Stiles scoffed again.

“He’s attractive alright. And rude. And conceited. And the world’s biggest douchebag to ever walk the Earth. No thank you.”

“Well, don’t worry. This convention’s going to be the start of a new life for us.”

Stiles looked up, frowning, his lips pushed together and eyes full of curiosity. In answer to his unspoken question, the Sheriff waved a piece of paper triumphantly.

“I think that’s done it.”

*

Stiles walked to the car with his dad, standing in the afternoon sun as the Sheriff got into the car, in the driver’s side.

“Good luck, dad.”

“’Bye, Stiles. And take care while I’m gone.”

Stiles smiled half-heartedly at him, knowing he would miss his dad, knowing he would be even lonelier without anybody. But his dad was going to be successful, the No Crime scheme would be great and receive lots of support by other police stations and Stiles would be proud. So would his mum. 

*

The night started to draw in as the Sheriff hit the intersection, tapping at the screen of his new Satnav and clicking his tongue in irritation. 

“Should be there by now.” He muttered.

The road seemed endless, the rain obscuring his vision and the wind wipers squeaking with every swish. The Sheriff peered out of the windshield.

“Must have missed a turn. I guess I should have taken the-” 

“-You missed a left turn 100 miles away. Recalculating your route.” The Satnav declared.

The Sheriff swore under his breath. He would be late for booking his room at the hotel. He sighed, peering out of the windshield again. 

“Wait a minute…” 

He thought he saw a road sign.

“Turn left now.” The Satnav instructed.

“Let’s go this way.” The Sheriff mumbled, indicating the opposite direction.

“Turn left now.” The Satnav repeated.

“Come on, Tommy. It’s a short cut. We’ll be there in no time.” The Sheriff said, patting his Satnav consolingly.

The road was still dark, the car creeping forward to be shrouded in it. A flash of movement outside the car. Then, it was gone. The Sheriff frowned but continued driving. After a few minutes, he frowned again, this time out the window. He didn’t recognise this. 

“This can’t be right. Where have you taken us, Tommy?” He grumbled.

Somewhere outside, a wolf howled. The Sheriff began to reverse, trying not to let panic fill him. He’d simply make a U-turn and be on his way.

“We’d better turn around.” The Sheriff muttered.

The gear stick got jammed. The Sheriff spun the steering wheel, trying to get the car under control. The wheels started turning, the brakes refusing to stop the car. 

“Oh, oh boy.” The Sheriff mumbled.

Outside, more howls echoed through the woods on both sides of the narrow road. The Sheriff startled, accidently driving too far backwards into a tree. Bats flew out of it, covering the windscreen. He drove the car forward in shock but the brakes still weren’t working, meaning the car was moving at an alarming speed and not stopping.

“Oh, boy.” The Sheriff muttered again.

The car skidded, turning twice on the road before reaching a cliff edge, dangerously balancing there precariously. The Sheriff kept trying to reverse.

“Back up. Back up.” He muttered to himself.

The car moved a few meters backwards, away from the ledge. 

“That’s good. That’s better.” The Sheriff breathed a sigh of relief.

A loud howl ripped through the trees around him, shattering his ear drums. He lost his concentration on steering, the car went out of control.

“No. No.” The Sheriff shouted.

As it hurtled towards the cliff edge again, he knew there was only one option left. Tuck and roll. He was left alone, on his knees, peering around alertly. The car was nowhere to be seen, gone to the dark wilderness of the woods. The Sheriff looked to where the car had been.

“Please Tommy, please.”

After only silence answered him, the Sheriff stood to his feet with a groan. As he was rubbing his arm better, he heard growling and snarling. He looked up, half dreading what feral creature he would see. Shadows moved until he could make out the silhouettes of a pack of wolves. Their eyes glowed out of the dark as they ran towards him. The Sheriff rushed through the woods, running from the howls and snarls filling the air all around him. The moving shadows casted fears in his mind, reeling in the thought of death. He still had Stiles to live for. He still had his town to fix. He couldn’t die. He stumbled across some large tree roots, falling down a ditch and rolling with the momentum to avoid less pain. 

He was at the foot of a large gate. He recognised this. Hale Property. 

But the wolves were behind him, growling from the roots of the trees, snarling down at him, their eyes unforgiving and hungry for the intruder. Secluded bastards or not the hale family had to help a lone traveller in danger from a pack of wild wolves.

The Sheriff threw himself to the gate, clutching the wrought iron bars and shaking them. 

“Help! Someone help!” He shouted.

The wolves moved forward from their perch, slinking forward with the shadows.

“Help!” The Sheriff shouted again.

Miraculously, the gate opened. He fell forward, not expecting it, and he kicked it closed behind him, right into the faces of the nearest wolves. One lunged for his foot, gripping it in his teeth but the Sheriff cried out and pulled it back. He stood to his feet, hurriedly running towards the Hale House, which seemed to loom over him, imposing him with its very existence. Thunder crackled and rain fell in huge droplets. The Sheriff half expected dramatic music to be playing in the background, if this was a movie it would. He ran to the door for shelter from the rain, hurriedly knocking on the door, which creaked open almost too easily. The sheriff peeked his head inside. The front hall was grand, with large windows and sashes decorating every wall. A red, old carpet ran down the floor. The Sheriff stepped forward cautiously.

“Hello?” He took another step forward. No answer. “Hellloo?”

Still no answer. The dark, dismal hall seemed to echo back his question. Yet, it sounded like voices were whispering in his mind…maybe he was going insane. 

“He must have lost his way in the woods.”

“Be quiet.”

“Maybe he’ll go away?”

John Stilinski was not used to this. He squinted suspiciously, reaching for the gun at his hip.

“Is someone there?”

From the corner of the hall, the clock and candlestick were regarding him with deadpan expressions. The candlestick glanced at the clock.

“Not a word, Peter, not one word.”

“I don’t mean to intrude but I’ve broken my car…and I need a place to stay for the night.” The Sheriff called out.

While the clock wrinkled his nose, Peter rolled his candlestick head towards his friend.

“Aw Coach Finstock, have a heart.”

The coach covered his friends mouth muttering for him to ‘shh’. Peter rolled his eyes, sassily putting his flame, on his left arm, onto the coach’s. He had a habit of being sassy. That was just Peter.

“Ah, ah, OW, OW!” Coach tried to tend to his arm.

“Of course, sir, you are welcome here.” Peter announced.

The Sheriff glanced around, holding the candlestick.

“Who said that?” He asked, spinning around to see.

“Over here.” Peter called lazily from above the man’s shoulder.

The Sheriff turned again but, of course, he was holding Peter over his other shoulder then. 

“Where?” The Sheriff asked.

Peter tapped The Sheriff’s head with one of his smaller candles on his arm. The Sheriff looked up. 

“’ello.” Peter said in as low a voice as he could manage. 

The coach scoffed. Peter sounded like he was from abroad not threatening. But it must have been to the human. The Sheriff startled and gasped, dropping Peter on the floor.

“Inpossible.” The Sheriff whispered.

Seeing no point in pretending anymore, the coach dropped down from the table too, next to Peter.

“Well, now you’ve done it, Peter. Splendid. Just peachy.”

The Sheriff grabbed the clock, tilting the talking object in his hand and squinting at it in suspicion. 

“Is there drugs in the air or something?” He asked.

“Put me down at once!” The coach barked.

The Sheriff scratched at the clock surface, at the coach’s feet to be exact.

“Stop that! Hehehehe, stop that!”

The Sheriff didn’t pay any attention, instead tipping the clock upside down. Peter chuckled as he watched the scene unfold. The Sheriff wound the clock up, literally and mentally, much to the coach’s annoyance. He then proceeded to open and close the small glass door to the swinging brass inside. 

“Close that at once!” The coach snapped, closing it himself.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen a talking clock before." The Sheriff frowned, ending his sentence with a sneeze, which fogged up the clock’s face.

“Oh, you are soaked to the bone, Sir. Come, warm yourself by the fire.” Peter persuaded. 

“Thank you.” The Sheriff spoke through a blocked nose.

Upstairs, the depths of the shadows of the castle stirred.

“No, no, no. You know what the master would do if he finds him here.” The coach insisted, chasing after them.

He tried to clutch onto the Sheriff’s coat but even as he spoke his next words, which were said with all the authority of a pro, he fell over the stairs and clogs, screws, nuts and bolts all fell with him. 

“I demand that you stop. Right. There.”

He looked up, with dismay, to see Peter seating the Sheriff in the master’s chair, right in front of the fire. A dog yapped somewhere in the room. 

“Oh no, not the master’s chair.” The coach moaned.

The yapping came closer and a certain adorable footstool came bounding past, spinning the coach as he got to his feet. Isaac was way too excited about a visitor. How dumb were they all? Peter wasn’t helping the situation by coaxing the stranger into the master’s chair! The coach covered his eyes.

“I am not seeing this! I am not seeing this!”

The Sheriff chuckled, ruffling the stool like a dog. At least he could figure that out. Sheriff for a reason then, Peter thought.

“Well, hello there, boy.” The Sheriff laughed as Isaac sprung up to the arm chair.

At the affectionate ruffle, Isaac promptly made himself the perfect footstool for this tired stranger. A walking coat peg stepped forward and draped a napkin over the Sheriff. There was no time for introductions as it tipped its hat and walked away.

“What service.” The Sheriff commented, bemused.

“Alright! This has gone far enough! I’m in charge here.” The coach protested, as he was run over by a speeding trolley carrying a teapot and a tea cup.

“ ’Ow would you like a nice spot of tea, Sir? It’ll warm you up in no time.” Melissa asked.

The Sheriff looked at her, a talking teapot, with a smile. She poured some hot coffee coloured liquid into the tea cup, smiling welcomingly. From the carpet, where his face was squashed against a rug, the coach raised a single hand.

“No tea! No tea!” He argued.

It was too late. The Sheriff was raising the tea cup to his lips and the tea cup, Scott, for that matter, was laughing.

“That tickles!” 

“Oh!” The Sheriff almost dropped his tea in surprise. “Hello!”

The doors burst open onto the happy, warm scene. The Sheriff’s sense of security was shaken into proportion. A gust of wind entered the room, freezing the air. Peter’s face was aghast. Melissa stared with wide eyes, as she shook the china rattled. Scott hid behind his mum.

“Uh, oh.” He said.

The Sheriff shook as a large shadow loomed over the chair. This was not his house. He shouldn’t have come here. A wolf was growling behind him, approaching ever closer as it prowled and snarled down the stairs.

“Why is there a stranger here?” The beast snarled.

“Master, allow me to explain. The gentlemen was lost in the woods. He was cold and wet so we-”

Peter’s explanation was drowned out by a furious roar, which blew out the light of Peter’s candles. The coach stood up from where he was cowering behind the rug.

“Master, I’d like to take a moment to say…I was against this from the start! It was all his fault! I tried to stop them, would they listen? No, no-”

Derek, the werewolf, interrupted the coach with a roar. The coach hid under the rug again. Derek’s face was suddenly next to the Sheriff’s, whose eyes widened at the sight of those glowing blue ones.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Derek growled.

The Sheriff had the presence of mind to move away from the chair.

“I-I was lost in the woods and-d-“

“You’re not welcome here.” Derek roared.

“I-I’m sorry.” The Sheriff apologised.

“What are you staring at?” Derek roared again.

“Nothing.”

Derek crept around him, walking in a circle, his height an automatic predatory advantage. He could kill him at any moment. The Sheriff knew he wouldn’t have time for his gun.

“You’ve come to stare at the beast, have you?” Derek demanded.

“Please, I didn’t mean any trouble. I just need a place to stay.” The Sheriff tried to be reasonable.

“I’ll give you a place to stay.” Derek growled, the gun was out of reach with one swipe of his claw.

He lifted the man by his shoulders and dragged him out of the room. The Sheriff fought, of course he did, he was the Sheriff. He struggled against the beast’s strong hold and bulging arm muscles.

“Please!” He choked out. He thought of Stiles, all alone. “No! NO!”

The door closed and the room fell silent, the cowering household items all ashamed, bowing their heads in something close to submission to the leader of the pack.

Thunder rumbled overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I was going to write a chapter today but the website I usually watch free movies on isn't working and YouTube doesn't have one that I can find either. If anybody knows anywhere I could watch Beauty and the Beast Disney for free leave a comment to let me know please?


	3. The surprise of your life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson asks Stiles out...Stiles just wants out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, well I don't really know what to say. I'm so super sorry that it's taken this long to get round to this fic. I've only finished my exams and revision a week ago (all 20 of them!) and then my normal site for Beauty and the Beast got blocked, then the next one I used to use downloaded a Trojan virus and after ages of trolling through Youtube, I asked a friend what to recommend and I finally found a site that works! Yay! I will be updating as soon as I can but writing this fanfic takes longer as I have to check the dialogue and actions of the film as I write the Teen Wolf version. Anyways, you probably want to read the story, ta dah!

Danny glanced sideways at his best friend. He and Jackson were stood outside Stiles’s house, hiding in the bushes.

“Stiles is gunna get the surprise of his life, huh Jackson?” He asked, somewhat apprehensively.

Jackson didn’t seem to notice. He flashed Danny a confident grin.

“Yep. This is his lucky day.”

With that reassurance, he stopped holding the plant down, leaving Danny as it flung back in his face. Danny rolled his eyes, his mouth momentarily full of leaves, before he spat them out. Meanwhile, Jackson again hadn’t noticed. Stiles was completely preoccupying his mind. Jackson cleared his throat loudly.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming to my date.”

The team of a harpist, two love singers, a few girls and guys from their year and a freshman kid, called Matt, Danny had paid to hold up the ‘Jackson 4 Stiles 4eva’ all blinked in response. Jackson carried on, regardless.

“First I better go in there and…ask him out!”

This was met with appreciative laughter, albeit it some of the girls, the ones Stiles had overheard before, were shedding tears of hysterical jealousy.

“Here, Danny.” Jackson said, taking his best friend to the side and gripping his shoulder tightly, like he was about to give a pep talk for a lacrosse game. “Now, when Stiles and I come out that door…”

“I know, I know.” Danny sighed. “I strike up the band.” He jabbed a finger behind his shoulder, at the harpist and two love singers. They immediately started playing, taking this as their queue.

“Not. Yet.” Jackson gritted out, whacking Danny round the head.

Danny rubbed the back of his head resentfully. The sooner Jackson got this over with the better.

“Sorry.” Danny muttered, not really sounding it.

*

There was a knock at the door.

Stiles glanced up, from where he was spread-eagled on the settee, his legs hanging over the arm, mouth slack as his eyes roamed pages of law and science. When he managed to avert them to the door, the book dropped on his face. At least he’d marked the page.

He stood to his feet, stretched lazily and walked over to the door. He looked through the door hole and saw Jackson, grinning at him, and- ugh- was that a smoulder?

Stiles supposed it would be rude not to answer. He opened the door.

“Jackson.” He acknowledged, his tone surprised.

Jackson was sauntering forward, his eyes locked on Stiles, confidently walking into the room, invading Stiles’s personal space so he was forced to walk backwards.

“What a pleasant surprise.” Stiles finished dryly, barely concealed annoyance in his voice.

Jackson managed to keep his smoulder whilst raising one eyebrow.

“Isn’t it, though?”

Jackson paused, looking appreciative of himself, and Stiles took a breath of relief, pausing in his walk too.

“I’m just full of surprises.” Jackson’s thoughts were clearly with the band.

Jackson shook himself out of his thoughts, leaning on the counter in the kitchen.

“You know, Stiles, there’s not a guy or girl who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes? This is the day-”

Jackson was momentarily distracted by his own appearance in the kitchen mirror. He ran a tongue down his teeth, checking how white they were, before grinning a glistening smile. Stiles rolled his eyes, arms folded, waiting to find out if Jackson had finally learnt that this is the day called Tuesday.

“-your dreams come true.” Jackson announced, swinging an arm out as if to showcase the day.

Stiles took as many steps backwards as possible when aiming for subtly. Eventually, he had put a whole dining table between them.

“What do you know about my dreams, Jackson?” He scoffed.

“Plenty.” Jackson dismissed. Stiles liked COD, right?

Stiles crossed his arms, unimpressed.

“What did I dream last night then, huh?” He challenged.

Jackson chose to ignore him, instead sitting on the settee, where Stiles had been before.

“Here, picture this...” Jackson carried on, smirking like he knew Stiles couldn’t resist.

Stiles, however, could resist. Very much so. The idiot had put his muddy football shoes on the crisp white pages of the book Stiles had been reading, splattering the lines of ink with brown.

“My family’s private french chalet, my latest lacrosse trophy on a stand and my boyfriend…running his hands through my hair.”  
Jackson was looking expectantly at Stiles now, particularly his skinny hands, like he should start stroking his hair reverently. Stiles pulled a face.

“While the little ones play on the floor. We’ll have six or seven.”

By this point, Stiles was wearing an expression of the utmost horror, looking quite frankly appalled.

“Children?” He demanded incredulously. Jackson was mad. He had to be.

Jackson stood from the settee, next to Stiles. Damn. Stiles hadn’t seen that manoeuvre coming.

“No, Stiles.” He laughed. “Dogs.”

Stiles licked his lips nervously, picking up the book and pointedly wiping the dirt from it. Jackson didn’t seem to take note.

“Imagine that.” Stiles muttered, returning the book to the bookshelf.

“You know who that boyfriend will be?” Jackson asked, following him.

“Let me think…” Stiles stalled, pulling another face as the spine of the book hit the wood.

Jackson’s arms hit the wall both sides of Stiles, effectively keeping him there, talking to someone who didn’t even know how to treat a book. Jackson was a few inches taller too.

“ _You_ , Stiles.”

Stiles ducked under Jackson’s arm, careful to put a chair’s distance between the two of them. He carried on taking steps backwards, until his back thumped against his front door.

“Jackson I’m-I’m…speechless.” Stiles ducked his head, glancing up at Jackson with hazel eyes through lowered lashes.

“I really don’t know what to say.” Stiles admitted, speaking until Jackson had completely knocked over the chair and was leaning over him like before.

“Say yes.” Jackson told him, searching his eyes hungrily, dropping them to Stiles’s lips and licking his own.

“I’m sorry, Jackson, well, no I’m not. But-but-” Jackson leant forward, lips pursed. Stiles hand found the doorknob. “I just don’t deserve you.”

With that, Stiles opened the door, stepping out of the way just as Jackson leant forward, for a kiss full of mud. The band started playing, right on queue, and in Stiles’s mind it sounded like a celebration. Maybe Jackson wouldn’t treat a book in the same way next time.

“PAR!” He shouted, before slamming the door. He locked it too.

Danny bent down next to Jackson, grinning from ear to ear at his mud-covered friend. He reached out a hand, pulling Jackson’s hair out of his face.

“So, how’d it go?” He joked.

Jackson all but strangled him in response, still holding his friend roughly by the shirt, he finally answered the question.

“I’ll have Stiles for my boyfriend. You can count on that.” Jackson hissed, pulling Danny closer and into the mud.

Whilst Jackson stalked off, Danny sat, quite pleasantly, in the muddy, waterlogged grass, with his elbows resting on his knees. He glanced sideways, at a frog.

“Touchy.” He commented.

The frog ribbited its agreement.

*

Stiles peeked the door open slightly. Was he gone? Checking the coast was clear of all Jacksons, Stiles closed the door behind him, walking onto the garden. He paced here until the grass was well-trodden.

“Can you imagine? He asked me to be his boyfriend!” Stiles paused, horrified. “Me?!”

He shuddered and assumed his pacing.

“Jackson’s bae! Not something you want to see! Jackson’s bae…his fragile boyfriend.”

Stiles shook his head resolutely, imagining all the mockery, the jealous girls, the cringe worthy nick names.

“Nooo, Sir.” He laughed. “Not me. Definitely.”

He paused, jiggling his leg a bit, like he did when his thoughts where everywhere but something was nagging him. He glanced back at the house and shook his head.

“I want more than this life.” He scoffed at that. “The mainstream life.”

He wanted something from COD or his video games…adventure. That’s what he wanted. He wanted what those books promised…a change in the world. He wanted to see that, to be that. He wanted to prove himself, not fawn and worship Jackson Whittemore all day. He wanted the promise of those books more than he could tell anybody. For one thing, they’d think he was weird. They all thought he was weird. Dismissing Jackson didn’t help that image, but Stiles didn’t care. He just needed someone to understand. Maybe someone with puppy dog eyes and an optimistic energy. Yeah, that would be great. He wanted so much more than what Jackson and every other high schooler wanted. They didn’t really have their sights set on a Nobel Prize now, did they?  
A tow truck pulled up to their drive, interrupting Stiles dreams of an idealistic, possibly unrealistic, straight-out-of-Disney future. It was carrying a battered looking Sheriff’s car. Stiles knew the driver of the tow truck. Everybody knew everybody in this town.

“Hey, son.” The driver said, a middle aged man, a friend of his dad’s.

“What happened?” Stiles asked, handing him the standard price for a tow.

The man pushed it away, shaking his head sadly.

“Found this one in a bad way, down by the preserve.”

He looked Stiles squarely in the eye.

“I don’t know where your dad is.”

Stiles nodded slowly, biting his lip to refrain from shouting in frustration. Wolves were rumoured to be around those parts, some say they can hear the howling at night. Some hear gun shots. But nobody actually says anything. Or rescues dads by the sound of it.

As the driver drove his truck down the street, Stiles rushed over to the police car, sitting in the driver’s seat. He turned the key and the engine started. He activated the SatNav, muttering to himself.

“Tommy…what are you doing here? Where’s dad?” He sounded angry, even to himself. As if this was the SatNav’s fault. He jabbed at the buttons, hoping the voice would miraculously work. “Where is he, Tommy? What happened?” He had angry tears in his eyes.

He wiped them just as angrily, knowing that if all the logic reading in the world had taught him something- fixing this SatNav would give him the answer. He began searching the system settings.

“We have to find him. You have to take me to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience :)


	4. The grass is always greener on the darker side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes looking for his dad and finds a certain pissed off werewolf too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so it's been a looong while since I've written fanfiction so you'll have to bare with how my writing is for that, sorry. I am SO sorry for the wait for this chapter and if you have waited all this time kudos to you! Basically, I've been swamped with a few changes to my life, starting sixth form, starting a new job with too many hours, personal reasons but I don't want to go into all that so I am very sorry but I will always try to finish a fanfiction story as best I can so here we go again- no promises as to when the next update will be but I will try to be better at it! Unfortunately, I've not had time to edit, this is unbetaed and probably has a few typos but enjoy! :)  
> Let me know what you think, thanks for the feedback so far always appreciated!!

Stiles had to admit that he’d never thought following the SatNav’s recent routes would lead him to…well, to this. He had parked the slightly-worse-for-wear police car outside the gates of a grand building. A tall gate loomed over him, almost as imposing as the building. The Hale house. It had to be. Stiles had heard rumours about this place. Some people reckoned it was haunted, Stiles included. If you walked past in the woods at night, there was always a wailing to be heard. Ghosts, perhaps. Maybe just the nearby wolves. 

He was about to find out. He clambered out of the car, locking it for good measure, shaking his head as he approached the gates. 

“What is this place?”

Stiles spotted something on the ground, lying just beyond those gates. He shoved his previous doubts to the side, replacing them with an overwhelming fear. He shouldered the gates until the hinge gave in, panting, out of breath, as he knelt beside the object.

His dad’s sheriff badge. 

“Dad.” He croaked out, voice broken.

*

“Oh, couldn’t keep quiet, could we, eh, Peter?” The coach was walking in circles around Peter.

He tried to appear nonchalant, glancing at his nails, wishing they were the claws he was used to. They would have been handy right about now, with Coach Finstock’s annoying lectures.

“We just had to invite him in, didn’t we? Waltzing on in like this is a parade. He wasn’t a freaking princess. But nooo, serve him tea, sit in the masters chair. Pet. The. Pooch.”

The last three lines were spoken with such heavy sarcasm towards being polite that Peter couldn’t let it slide. He shrugged.

“I was trying to be hospitable.” He bit out.

Coach Finstock opened his mouth, ready with a witty retort, or any retort really, but was cut off.

The front door creaked open. The front door never creaked open. That was twice now in the past day or so alone.

“Hello?” Stiles called warily, his tone sounding more tired than anything.

He took in the grand paintings on the wall, the elaborate yet depressing décor and the emptiness of the hallway with a snort. Yet, the shadows clinging to the wall set his hairs on end and his nerves screaming, he could swear he saw movement out of the corner of his eye…

“Is anyone here?” He asked, confused more than scared.

No answer. He stuck his tongue against his cheek, tapping his foot, hands on hips, waiting for a reply he would never get. 

“HELLO?” He called out loudly. 

Screw this, he wanted his dad not moving shadows, long hallways and no replys. It wasn’t like anybody was about to help him out anytime soon. He started to walk forward, jogging up the stone steps to the upper floor. And yes, there was an entire upper floor. Whoever owned this place was a) creepy and b) had too much money.

“Dad?” He called out again, this time fear crept into his voice.

It wasn’t fear for himself. But for his dad. He crept along the long corridors and hallways, fearing that the next turn would reveal his dad hurt, bleeding into the velvet carpet, possibly dying. How would he even contact the station? He’d stupidly left the radio in the car outside. Cursing himself, Stiles carried on walking through the vast mansion, all the time calling for his dad, praying he was still alive.

*

Scott bounced on over to the washing up bowl, moving the weight of his china as best he could. He wondered what it would be like to be normal again…it would sure make moving a lot faster. His excitement seemed enough to carry him forward for now though, Melissa thought.

“Mum! MUM! There’s a boy in the castle!” Scott breathed, his puppy dog eyes lit up.

Melissa sighed, jumping down from the basin. 

“Scott, I don’t want to hear such wild stories tonight, ok?”

She fixed him with such a stern expression, that if she could have folded her arms and told him he was grounded in his room for a week, she would’ve done. But that was a ‘perk’ only afforded when you were human.

“No, really! Mum, I saw him!” Scott was positively bouncing with excitement. 

“Not another word.” Melissa deadpanned.

Scott’s injured , hurt look in response was enough to convince Melissa he was hoping for things that couldn’t be, wanting her to play along too.

“But-”

“Into the tub!” Melissa said, proceeding to guide him towards that general direction.

Scott grudgingly swam in the tub, annoyed that nobody seemed to believe him simply because he liked to remain optimistic. He really had seen a boy though- gangly legs, red hoodie, moles and pale skin. A boy. 

“I saw a boy in the castle!” 

Melissa turned, exasperated, to see Lydia came waltzing around the corner. Melissa worried for her. Peter Hale seemed to have a strange fascination for playing with Lydia’s mind. But the young girl, now literally a feather duster, seemed completely preoccupied with the news of a boy in the castle.   
Scott took this opportune moment to resurface from the tub, squirting water like an elephant. 

“See? I told you.” He looked at Melissa pointedly, grinning cheekily.

*

“I-r-r-e-s-p-o-n-s-i-b-l-e!” Coach Finstock was still rambling to Peter. 

Lecturing might be a better word for it. Peter sighed, ignoring the stupid man. When he zoned back in, the Coach was still listing his faults.

“-waxy eared, slack jawed-”

“Dad?” A nervous voice called out, interrupting.

Coach Finstock and Peter both froze, eye widening, before turning sharply at the same time, watching as a young teenage boy walked nervously down the halls, the torch on his phone lighting his way. Peter immediately turned to look at Coach Finstock, his mind already working a mile a minute, all thoughts of wanting to murder the Coach vanishing from his mind.

“Did you see that?” He asked, his voice low, hushed.

Peter then proceeded to hop of the table, bouncing along the floor until he reached the doorway, trying to conspicuously look around the corner. Coach Finstock’s clattering steps as he followed didn’t help much. Nonetheless, Peter bit his tongue, eyes trained on the adolescent that could save them all. Even Coach Finstock’s nervous, deep breathing in his ear couldn’t spark enough annoyance to override the hope he felt. That was saying something.   
He wanted to be strong again. He wanted his old body back. This boy could give them that, give them all that.

“It’s a…boy.” Peter whispered, staring at Stiles with the want for his future in his eyes and tone.

Coach folded his arms, unimpressed.

“I know it’s a boy.” He protested.

“Don’t you see?” Peter asked hurriedly. “He’s the one- the boy we have been waiting for!”

He dashed out from their hiding place, knocking Coach to the side. 

“He’s come to break the spell!”

Coach, shaking his head from dizziness, stumbled after Peter. God knows, when Peter had an idea in his head it was lethal to let him carry it out. 

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” The Coach demanded.

Stiles rounded another corner of this upper story, his nerves stretched taunt by all the empty rooms with voices…was he going insane? His mind flashed back to all the zombie apocalypses, grudges or ghost stories he’d ever seen on TV and he willed himself to push those thoughts away. This was just a house. With whispering walls. But a house all the same. That was sort of normal, right? He pulled his red hood up, not liking the wall his neck burned like he was being watched. It was an instinct to protect. He had some self-preservation left. Not a lot. But a bit. He took a deep breath, steeling himself.

“Dad?” He called out again, hoping and praying for an answer.

Hoping and praying that it would be his dad’s.

Peter nudged the Coach, who, exasperatedly, helped the candle stick to open a nearby door. It led to where this boy’s father was staying. Stiles heard a creak and spun around, instantly alert, defence training from being the Sheriff’s kid kicking in. A door stood ajar.

“Dad?” He called, unsure. 

Peter and the Coach hid behind the door, just as Stiles stepped foot past it, his shoes hitting rough cobblestone instead of carpet and varnished wood. Now he was hoping his dad wasn’t here. This place had officially taken a dramatic turn for the one hundred percent more creepy. 

“Hello?” Stiles scanned the bleak stone walls. “Is someone here?” 

He stumbled on the word ‘someone’ hoping it wasn’t his father in a dim, dark, depressing place like this…one that resembled so much the beginning of a cell. And yet, he did want to find his father. Just in those warmer halls, the ones that only radiated about seventy percent creepy. He was sure he heard breathing, movement, somebody else out there. He had to get help, maybe whoever lived here didn’t actually know his father had passed through here, maybe they could help. Maybe they were trying to lead Stiles to him. Stiles pressed his lips together in a hard line, his jaw set in determination as he carried on walking, now hurrying up the stone steps.

“Wait! I’m looking for my dad-” He choked on the last word. “I-I-

As Stiles hurried up the stairs, the Coach stared after him, a solemn expression on his face. He wasn’t usually serious but this was just a teen. A very frightened, vulnerable teen who had the misfortunate fate of saving them all. This wasn’t going to be as easy as cream cheese. This was going to be difficult.

Further ahead in the corridor, Peter had repositioned himself inside a creeve in the wall. As Stiles walked past him, he muttered to himself, fingers tapping against his leg, jittery with nerves, never good for someone who had ADHD.

“I’m sure I heard someone.” Stiles muttered, clenching his jaw in frustration.

“Is anyone here?” He called out again, not really expecting an answer this time.

Peter watched the boy walk forward. His eyes were hopeful, knowing Stiles was close to finding his father, so then he would be sure to thank them and save them all from the witch’s spell. Or maybe he’d been around Scott’s optimism too long.

“Stiles?” A hoarse voice called out, the very syllables broken yet hopeful.

“DAD!” Stiles yelled, rushing over.

His eyes widened when he saw the state his dad was in. This creep, whoever he was, had chained the Sheriff to the wall by his wrists and ankles, leaving the man on his own in an open space that was clearly for imprisoning enemies. Who even had that in their house? Horrible people who deserved to be imprisoned themselves, that’s who.

“How did you find me?” The Sheriff asked quickly, eyes darting around, afraid Stiles would get caught...or murdered by that thing.

Stiles reached the shackles holding his dad’s wrists to the wall, he held onto his dad’s hands, not wanting to let him go again. He ignored his dad’s question, but replied on a different topic.

“Your hands are like ice.” And what was the bet his dad hadn’t been given three square meals a day?

Stiles pursed his lips, hearing his dad’s new-found wracking cough. He glanced at the shackles, seizing them up, his mind like clockwork, gears on full speed. Perhaps he could use a small pin, if he had one on him. Or maybe there was a room somewhere in this gigantic house that had a set of handy keys. Somehow, Stiles doubted it. Anyway, he couldn’t leave his dad here alone again. Stiles might not find his way back. His dad might fall into even more danger.

“We have to get you out of here-”

“Stiles. I. Want. You. To. Leave. Now.” His dad grit out, between harsh breaths. Something was causing him pain. 

Stiles leant his head forward insistently, wanting an answer. 

“Who’s done this to you?” He demanded, his voice shaking with anger.

“There’s no time to explain. You’ve got to go, NOW!” The Sheriff shouted, shaking his head. 

He wouldn’t have both his wife and son killed. Stiles wasn’t dying because of him. He wouldn’t let that happen. He was glad to see his son’s face though, he’d thought he never would again. But Stiles had to leave now. He didn’t want that thing to hurt his family anymore.

“I won’t leave you!” 

Every strong belief and conviction for that was wrapped up in his harsh answering whisper.

A roar ripped through the air, coming from behind him, shattering Stiles’s ear drums, causing him to jump out of his skin and flail on the floor. A rough claw grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards…a werewolf. A freaking werewolf. And a very pissed off one at that.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” 

Stiles blinked, not able to see in this dark very well. Maybe he’d imagined it. That had to be it because there was no possible freaking way this was real. The thing threw him onto the floor, evidently as disgusted by him as he was by it. Stiles lay on the floor, panting, his side felt bruised where it had collided with the stone flooring, the breath had been knocked out of him. His dad shouted from where he still sat, chained to the wall. If Stiles wasn’t close to the beast, he could still escape, get some backup, leave here alive even if he didn’t.

“RUN STILES!” His dad shouted, his words ripping and breaking through into the air with their desperation.

Stiles looked frantically around, his vision blurred. He must’ve hit his head on the stone. He blinked, sitting up and kicking himself backwards, scanning the darkness for a single shadow.

“Who’s there? Who are you?” He demanded, trying not to sound as scared a he was.

“The alpha of this house.”

Stiles’s jaw dropped in shock, completely convinced this guy was living in the stone age. Who even called themselves an ‘alpha’? Perhaps he’d been watching too many films. The darkness seemed to shift, a stirring of shadows. Stiles followed the sound of growling, looking to where he thought the ‘alpha of this house’ was. He didn’t beg usually. But his dad’s wrists looked raw from the shackles, his face hollowed out, panic in his eyes, a cough plaguing his lungs.

“Please. I’m here for my father. Let him out. Can’t you see his sick?” 

“Then he shouldn’t have trespassed here! This is private property!” The voice snarled defiantly. 

“But-” Stiles floundered for words, the only sentence left to him was the one he wouldn’t say. 

The silence seemed like a challenge, like this shadow-creature was demanding a logical reasoning to letting his dad go. As if locking his dad up had been far more logical!

“BUT HE COULD DIE!” 

The words flew out of his mouth, his breath seething, his jaw clenching afterwards, nodding his head as if swallowing the information he had just given to someone else. He hadn’t digested how true they were before. Desperation gripped him as he stared into the darkness, not wanting his dad to die. He hadn’t prepared homely meals all these years just so both his parents would die. He wanted his dad to live. He needed his dad to live. Otherwise, Stiles was fairly certain he’d go insane. 

“Please.” His voice was broken. “I’ll do anything!” He added hurriedly, starting over. 

The shadow seemed to shift again, Derek turned from this adamant teen. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to break the spell…that wasn’t how it worked anyway. And yet, he had cradled a hope for his old life again for years. And in walked the perfect suitor for the description…Derek wasn’t stupid. He could recognise that much. However, this man had trespassed, helped himself to Derek’s favourite armchair, his footstool, his tea, he’d basically intruded his house and made himself at home like Goldilocks would. Derek doubted he’d want an annoying teen anyway, as mesmerizing as those defiant hazel eyes were.

“He’s my prisoner.” Derek decided aloud.

Stiles made a noise of frustrated anger. How could someone who read so many books fail at logically solving a problem like this? That was all it was. A problem. He just had to find a solution.

“There must be some way I could- wait!” He called out, hearing the footsteps retreat.

Logical solutions be damned. There was only one solution available to him at the moment.

Derek paused, despite himself. His body was tensed, his head turned to the side, listening with his alert hearing. Stiles shrank back, hearing the pause. He hadn’t expected such a creature to listen to a reasoning voice, even briefly. He ducked his head down, looking at the floor, before nodding to himself and lifting his head up again, his face illuminated by a single shaft of light.

“Take me instead.” He demanded.

“You.” Derek snarled incredulously.

It was a good job the boy couldn’t see his expression of anger and disbelief fade into something distant, remembering. What if-? He wouldn’t allow himself to think that. Yet, the thought nagged at him. He turned a little more to face the teen, although he remained in the dark so the young man wouldn’t see him. 

“You…would take his place?” He asked hesitantly, as if disbelieving Stiles word.

Which, for the record, very insulting, thank you very much. Stiles brushed it aside, however. Maybe somebody so lonely wouldn’t possible understand why he’d risk his life for another. He couldn’t possible understand bonds, relationships, family, friend, love. He wouldn’t understand how that worked. And Stiles was right, Derek had forgotten that but he was still curious as to how it worked. As to why Stiles was so insistent on saving another’s life, on sacrificing himself and whether somebody like that could possibly save someone like him. It was a stupid thought, swept to the recedes of his mind as quickly as possible. Or not quite.

“No, Stiles, no!” The Sheriff said sternly, angrily. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Stiles shot his dad a wry smile, hadn’t that been the case throughout all his teenage years? Stiles looked back to where the footsteps had come from last.

“If I stay, will you let him go?”

“Yes.” Derek said quickly, flatly. 

He didn’t know whether or not to regret his answer, nor what had compelled him to say it. He thought that his thoughts of salvation had been firmly pushed away, shoved down so that they couldn’t resurface and make decisions exactly like this one. Yet, if the teen did stay, he wouldn’t necessarily keep to that promise once he saw how Derek really was…Derek knew that. He also knew that he needed a boy with a good heart, who could love him, and if this person in front of him, with the biggest heart around for miles, excluding Scott, couldn’t then nobody could.

“You must promise to stay here forever.” 

He growled quickly, before he could think on the words too much. Before he could regret them, or doubt that his promise would ever mean anything, would ever solve anything. Stiles considered this shadow-loving creatures words. He frowned, tilting his head upwards at an angle and squinting at the darkness as if trying to read its meaning. His mind was reeling but there was something that bothered him about this deal more than anything else. If the shadow-loving creature could talk and walk like any other person then why hadn’t it shown its face, why had it shoved Stiles away when he’d gotten too close in their initial meeting? He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Come into the light.” He demanded.

Derek, for reasons best known to his unconscious-deciding self, took a few tentative steps forward. The light flooded his figure, illuminating his werewolf features, his different nose and ears, his fangs and claws, his blood red eyes. Stiles yelled in surprise, scrambling backwards until his back hit the wall. He looked away, at the floor, chewing on his lip, considering the brand new information that he had not imagined it. His dad was being held captive by a freaking werewolf.

“No, Stiles!” His dad shouted, seeing that his son was actually debating it.

When the Sheriff got no answer, he continued, staring at his son with a desperate expression.

“I won’t let you do this!” He yelled.

Every syllable was filled with an unyielding anger that didn’t listen to an exhausted body’s demands. Stiles turned his face away from his dad’s desperate pleads, he couldn’t face him whilst he did this. But he could face the beast at least. He stood to his feet, ignoring how weak they felt, and walked purposefully into the light, mere inches away from the abominable creature. 

“You have my word.” Stiles’s voice shook.

“Done!” Derek growled, storming away to Stiles’s father.

Knowing that he wasn’t being watched by the werewolf anymore, Stiles blinked at the stinging in his eyes, wiping away the tears there quickly, before the beast could notice. He was tired of feeling so weak. He didn’t want to feel even weaker.

As soon as Derek had unlocked the Sheriff, the man ran to Stiles, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“No, Stiles. Listen. To. Me. I’ve lived a good life, had you, married your mum. I’ll probably die soon of curly fries and burgers anyways-”

Derek was fed up with all of this soap opera nonsense. He stalked over, grabbed the Sheriff by the collar and dragged the fully grown adult out of the room with ease.

“NO! WAIT!” Stiles yelled, his voice scraping his throat raw.

“STILES!” His dad shouted, seeing his son’s face getting further and further away.

“WAIT!” Stiles yelled, running after only for the door to slam in his face.

*

As Derek continued to drag the man, the man infuriatingly continued to shout at him.

“NO! Please. Spare Stiles. Please spare my son!”

“He’s no longer your concern.” Derek snarled, shoving the man into the parked police cruiser and locking the gates.

The wild wolves were just coming out to kill, the man would have no choice but to drive away, in the hope he would reach safety and get some backup on the case.

*

Stiles watched from an upper floor window, resting his elbows on the sill, his chin on his forearm and biting down on his lip to stop from crying out, to feel some pain so that he wouldn’t cry. He was sure the werewolf would return to speak to him. He didn’t feel like talking but he felt even less like easy prey. Did werewolves even eat humans or was deer their sort of thing? He couldn’t stand seeing the wolves around his dad’s car but eventually his dad was forced to drive away at a dangerously high speed. Stiles hoped he would be ok. That he would bring help. 

At least, his dad was safe now. His last close remaining family member was safe. That was what mattered.


	5. WORD HELP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word is a bum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this isn't an actual chapter- once I get the file ( or rewrite the entire chapter) I will post that instead and delete this.

Hey guys,

I'm sorry if this gave any false hope at all to adding a chapter but I REALLY need some technical help. Basically, I saved this fanfic (as word doc) yesterday night, intending to finish it tonight and post it up as well but when I tried to open it this evening it says it's a corrupted file so microsoft can't open it. Was wondering if any of you guys know what I could possibly do to get it back? Because it was literally almost done and such a long chapter too I really don't want to write it all out again as a) that's a lot of work and b) I was really happy with the first draft.

PLEASE let me know in the comments, I'm so stumped on what to do,

Shucking Wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's looking like I might have to rewrite the entire chapter which with my schedule at the moment might take another week :( I was so happy with how it had turned out as well! SO gutted :( Anyways, life goes on I will rewrite it for y'all because I still love it. I managed to recover a previous file, from a few chapters before, so will just write on that. I've tried everything I can think of text editors, macros, open and repair, open previous files, open with, and thank you all for your comments I really do appreciate the help and I'm sorry this has happened :( Before I start writing the chapter again I'll probably run a full scan on my computer encase, but nothing else seems to be affected. Ah well, I'll try and get it out to you guys ASAP.


End file.
